


An Endless Deluge

by NotFlyingWithOtters



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Basically I fuck with Kirk a lot, Eating Disorders, I'm Sorry, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotFlyingWithOtters/pseuds/NotFlyingWithOtters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this tumblr post:<br/>"imagine Jim being diagnosed with an eating disorder after Tarsus, OCD, PTSD, and clinical depression</p><p>imagine Bones watching as Jim throws up after meals, hides food long expired in odd places, wakes up from nightmares, hallucinations, and panic attacks</p><p>now imagine as Jim needs and wants help from Bones, but being unable to properly express it, so he pushes Bones further away"</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Endless Deluge

When he was a kid, they'd diagnosed him with a spectrum of mental illnesses and disorders. They were right of course, but James Tiberius Kirk didn't want them to know how much Tarsus had fucked him up. He pretended, he lied, and he got through school with only a minor alcohol problem. Going to Starfleet was supposed to be a new start for him, a way to get away from the stagnancy of Riverside, Iowa. He left behind all the medication they'd prescribed him, determined that he didn't need it.   
  
He made a friend on the shuttle there, a grumpy doctor from Georgia he affectionately nicknamed Bones. They'd been sharing a room for a month when the nightmares started again.  
  
 _Running, feet pounding along the mud tracks that lead to the city centre, the stench of decay in his lungs. Catching sight of himself in a puddle of something that definitely wasn't water, he swallowed thickly. He was thin, too thin, bones visible beneath his pale and bruised skin. Blue eyes too large for his face stared back from sunken sockets. Hair, now tufty and brittle, lay against his scalp in patches._  
  
 _A noise behind him_  
  
 _Run Jim, run before they get you. He tripped, stumbled, landed on the ground. He turned to face his attacker, hands raised in a feeble attempt to keep them away._  
  
His eyes snapped open, breathing laboured. His hands were curled into the duvet, nails almost ripping the material. He sat up, sweat pouring off of him, staring at the wall opposite. The steady breathing of his room mate and friend calmed him, though he didn't sleep again that night.

* * *

He showered every morning, spending a long time scrubbing every inch of his skin so that he didn't feel the blood and dirt there. The stench of decay and death lingered in his nose even when he was clean - and often he would catch himself washing his hands hard enough to crack the skin, rid himself of the dirt that was there, just beneath his skin.  
  
When he went to Bones with bleeding hands the doctor said nothing, patching him up as best he could. Jim nodded his thanks, lining up his medical equipment by size on the table beside him.

* * *

The first time he had a panic attack on campus it was because people had crowded around him, herding him towards a lecture theatre. Memories of being herded to the slaughter rose in his mind and he bolted, shaking and breathing harshly. He made it back to their room and shivered, hands shaking as he barricaded himself inside. He was crying, hyperventilating, unable to think past getting safe. Being safe. After that, they came with alarming frequency, though he tried so hard to hide this fact from Bones.

* * *

 Since Tarsus, eating had been an issue. When he came back, he'd had to learn not to stuff it into his mouth and eat so fast he made himself sick. His body hadn't been used to food for a long time, and his appetite was never there - though he needed desperately to gain weight. He'd got through that though, managing to eat and act normal around people once he was fifteen.

Bones and he often went for meals in the Starfleet Canteen, eating together and laughing, the companionship a comfort. After three months at the academy, around all the people, he started throwing up his food. He hadn't meant to in the beginning; he'd been eating with Bones and then his stomach had twisted painfully, a reminder of when he wasn't used to eating. He'd barely made it to the bathroom in time.  
  
After that, the sheer amount of people in Starfleet made him nervous. What if it happened again? He wasn't worth the food he was given. He skipped every meal he could, and when Bones forced him to eat he'd bring it back up again almost immediately afterwards. The weight fell off of him, and a few times he caught himself about to pass out as he walked across campus. Somewhere in his mind he was glad of it.  
  
Though he didn't eat, he stashed food in their dorm room. He wanted to give Bones a fighting chance if it happened again. Old sandwiches stuffed in the backs of cupboards, a tin of soup secreted behind the toilet. Stale bread under the sink, a bottle of water - old and leaking - stashed behind the bookcase. And when Bones asked about it, he said nothing, laughing it off. But when the doctor threw the food away, Jim made sure to replace it.  
  
When Jim passed out on the way to an engineering lecture, he knew he needed help. He wanted Bones, he wanted to talk to him, to try and help himself. But Bones was normal, he didn't have this crap inside of him every day. He wasn't going to ruin this for him. He got more secretive, purging only when Bones had already left, stashing the food in more imaginative hiding places. He passed out more frequently now, weight dropping extremely low. To counter this, he wore more layers of clothing to pad himself out.

* * *

 Leonard McCoy had worried about Jim from the second he met him. He saw pain in the lines around his mouth when he smiled, PTSD in the way his hands shook every time he was in a group of people. He wanted to help him, wanted to take the kid and shake him, get him to talk.

He heard him throwing up his food, heard about the frequent panic attacks from members of the academy. He knew about him passing out with a more recurring frequency. Goddamn, he just wanted to help him. Every time he saw him the kid looked worse, eyes sunken, skin pale. And every attempt to talk to him only made it worse.  
  
 _"You okay, kid? You don't look so good."_

_"I'm fine, Bones. Busy."_

_"Jim..."_

_"Not now, Bones. I said I'm fine."_  
  
And so it went, days into weeks, weeks into months. He itched to take the stubborn bastard by the collar and drag him home, sit him down and just talk it over.

* * *

He didn't get a chance to, but when he came back from a shift in the clinic on campus and heard Jim throwing up in the bathroom again, he couldn't stop himself. He pushed the door open and knelt beside him, a little uncertain how to proceed, but doing so anyway.

"Alright kid. We're gonna go into our room and talk about this."

"Bones! No!" Bones flushed the toilet and helped him up, worry gnawing in his gut at how little he weighed. He'd known it was bad, but not this bad.

"Yes." He lead him through to the kitchen and replicated a snack for Jim, hoping he'd keep it down. "You're going to eat this, and then you're gonna tell me what's happening in that head of yours." Jim shook his head, already panicking.

"Bones no. Please, you don't want to know." McCoy pushed the plate to him.

"I assure you, I do." Jim looked at the plate warily, lifting a slice of the apple from it and eating it, slowly.

"You don't." He said softly, already feeling sick again.

"Come on, kid. I care." He looked at Jim, shrugging off his jacket. "Tell me what's going on in there that's making you want to bring up everything you've eaten and have panic attacks every five minutes." Jim could feel panic rising.

"How do you know about that?"

"I've known for a while, I just didn't know how to ask."

"Bones you don't have to."

"I'm asking you to tell me." Jim nodded. He looked up at him and steeled himself, throat thick. Through a voice that wavered and cracked, Jim told him everything; about Tarsus, the diagnoses he'd had, the eating disorder, the hunger, the death. When he was finished it was dark outside, he was shaking and Bones was silent. He lowered his head, looking at the tabletop. Then a hand covered his own.

"What do you say we work through this together, kid?" Jim nodded, looking up at him.

* * *

 And when James Tiberius Kirk was given command of a starship a little over two years later, it was Bones who he crawled into bed with, his panic rising a little at the crowds of people. And it was Bones who stroked his hair and whispered how proud of him he was.

It wasn't always going to be okay - but on the days it wasn't, he had this. And that was okay.


End file.
